


It Came (Hard) From Outer Space!

by nookienostradamus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Taste, Canon Cannibalism, Crack, Daddy Issues, Drag, Gore, Hank x Literally everyone, M/M, Meta, OOC in the extreme, Parody, RK900 is Brad, Rocky Horror Canon Character Death (but funny), Surprise Piercings, Violent Hilarious Death, parody of a parody, pop culture references, rocky horror picture show au, terrible puns, weird family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nookienostradamus/pseuds/nookienostradamus
Summary: Inspired byrattheripper'ssuperlative DBHRocky Horror Hankcon art.Newly engaged couple Gavin Reed and Brad Richards find themselves stranded on a dark road in the middle of a rainy night. Lost, with no cellular signal, they make their way to a mysterious mansion in search of help. What Brad and Gavin don't know—but soon find out—is that they've stumbled into a world of outlandish characters, hideous décor, and flagrant sexual debauchery. And that's just the first five minutes!You see, a mad scientist (who may not even be of this earth) is preparing to unveil his greatest creation. While the experiment is a success, the night still goes awry in the wildest possible ways. If they manage to survive, Brad and Gavin will surely never be the same again.





	It Came (Hard) From Outer Space!

**Author's Note:**

> Not a single sentence of this 11,000-word trash fire is remotely serious. All of it is for my own amusement—and hopefully yours! There are tons of pop culture easter eggs scattered throughout. I hope you enjoy this... _sticky_...Halloween treat!

A Crackfic in Thirteen Acts

 

 ******The Cast** (in order of appearance):

 

 **Gavin Reed** , a young (ish), sweet (nope), virginal (OH, FUCK OFF) guy

 **Brad Richards** , Gavin’s awkward boyfriend (who may or may not look almost exactly like **Connor** )

 **Markus** , a manservant

 **Simon** , the maid

 **North** , a chorus girl

 **Dr. Hank-n-Furter** , a mad scientist from the Planet Detroit in the Galaxy of Transylvania

 **Connor** , a creation

 **Ralph** , North’s rebel, rock ‘n’ roll boyfriend

 **Dr. Elijah Kamski** , a human scientist hot on the trail of Hank-n-Furter

  
  
  


**I: A Wedding**

His co-worker Tina Chen and her new bride had just driven away to start their new life together, and Gavin was feeling sentimental. This wasn’t unusual, but he would rather saw off his arm with a butter knife than have anybody know it.

That same mile-wide sentimental streak was exactly how he’d met his boyfriend. The devastatingly handsome Brad Richards had unwittingly walked in on Gavin ugly-crying in the men’s room over the finale of _Golden Girls_. Brad _still_ didn’t know that Gavin had watched the entire series four times and devolved into a blubbering mess each and every time he reached the end.

Gavin had been so paranoid that news of his toilet-stall breakdown would make its way around the office that he had been _forced_ to take approximately sixty compromising pictures while Brad was blowing him in the dressing room at Macy’s two weeks afterward. You know, as _collateral_.

It turned out he never needed them, because he ended up falling head-over-heels for Brad. He was awkward, a little geeky...but his blowjob game was tighter than a Hoover industrial upright vacuum. Unfortunately, that’s _all_ they had done. Somehow, it ended up that Brad and Gavin were “saving themselves” for their eventual happy nuptials.

A further problem was that neither had yet proposed to the other. As for Gavin, he was stockpiling his meager salary for the titanium ring he wanted to get for Brad. And Brad...well, who really knew? He didn’t talk all that much and wasn’t into expressing deep feelings.

But he looked like Superman in the Christopher Reeve golden age, made a mean ham-and-cheese omelette, and sucked dick like a champ. Gavin was crazy about him.

Still, watching Tina and Julie drive away in their Volvo, he found himself restless and full of longing.

“What a ceremony,” Gavin said to Brad as he threw his last handful of birdseed after the happy couple. “Didn’t Tina look beautiful?”

“She sure did, Gavin,” Brad said, pushing his glasses up on his attractive nose. “I’m still not sure about Julie’s plaid suit.”

“ _Madras_ ,” Gavin said. “Not plaid. And, anyway, you’re one to talk about fashion. You’re wearing a sweater vest.”

“It’s distinguished,” Brad said.

“It’s _July_.”

Brad took off his glasses and polished the lenses on his argyle vest. “You, darling, are wearing one of those tuxedo t-shirts and a pair of jeans.”

Gavin frowned. “My _best_ pair, thank you very much. These don’t have any holes in them.” He looped his arm around Brad’s, snuggling close. “Call me that again,” he said.

“Trashy?”

Playfully thumping Brad on the shoulder with his fist, Gavin said, “No, silly. ‘Darling.’”

Just then, a guy in a black-and-white spotted suit came by, looking displeased. “Gotta clear out, folks,” he said. “Got a funeral here in half an hour. Chop, chop!” On closer examination, his suit wasn’t actually spotted: he’d just been shat on by the horde of starlings that had come down from the trees to devour the birdseed.

“Take a walk with me,” Brad said to Gavin, patting his hand.

They strolled past Our Lady of Perpetual Motion church and onto the wooded path beyond, Gavin looking up adoringly at Brad and Brad looking...however Brad looked...ahead.

Less offensive birds than pigeons were twittering in the trees and sunlight filtered through the leaves. It was a perfect day.

Suddenly, Brad stopped short. “Listen, Gavin,” he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

Gavin’s heart was suddenly in his throat. “Yes?” he managed.

“You know I’m not really the sentimental type.” He smoothed a hand over his already perfectly smooth hair. “Not one to talk about feelings and such.”

“Yes, I know that.” Gavin’s pulse had started pounding.

Brad cleared his throat. “But I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“You—you haven’t?”

“Nope. I never thought I could care about someone who wears tuxedo t-shirts, or squeezes the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, or yells ‘Booyah!’ when he has an orgasm. But, God help me, I _do_. I care about you.” Brad shook his head. “No, it’s not just that.” He took Gavin’s hands, ignoring the motor oil under the fingernails. “Dammit, Gavin! I _love_ you!”

Gavin’s eyes went wide. He felt ready to jump for joy, faint, and piss his pants (not necessarily in that order). “Oh, my God! Brad...Brad, that’s amazing! I love you, too!”

“Good,” Brad said, pushing up his glasses again. Then he sank to one knee.

Gavin started unzipping, but stopped when he saw the love of his life was holding a little velvet box with a ring inside. The very same titanium ring that he had planned to give to Brad!

“Gavin Reed,” Brad said, “will you marry me?”

At that point, Gavin squealed. He didn’t even look around to see if anyone could hear it. “You bet your sexy ass I will! Hot damn!” He allowed a grinning Brad to slip the ring on his trembling hand.

Brad stood up and kissed his knuckles, right next to the shiny titanium.

“Jesus,” Gavin breathed. “Does this mean we can fuck now?”

“You’re damn right,” said Brad, chucking Gavin gently on the chin. “I booked us a room at the Love Inn. They’ve got a mini bar and mirrors on the ceiling.”

“Booyah!” shouted Gavin.

  


**II: A Dark and Stormy Night**

The beautiful, perfect day had fucked right off and a dreary night had taken its place. Thunder rolled on the horizon and rain lashed against the windshield of Brad’s Hyundai as he guided it carefully down the dark country lane. Trees rose up on both sides, making it impossible to see anywhere but straight ahead. And even _that_ was a tall order—even with the high beams on, the only thing visible was an endless tunnel through the forest.

Meanwhile, Gavin cringed in the passenger seat, clutching the armrest with every bump in the road. It didn’t even feel like it was paved. “Are you _sure_ the Love Inn is down this way?” It was the fifteenth time he’d asked.

“That’s the fifteenth time you’ve asked,” Brad said, holding his phone up by the Hyundai’s roof to try for a better signal.

“It just seems like we should have been there by now,” Gavin said, scowling.

Brad sighed. He was hard to ruffle, but he was ruffled like a chorus girl’s panties just then. “I’ll bet you were fun on family car trips.”

Gavin scratched his chin, pondering. “I don’t remember. My parents always made us drink a full bottle of cough syrup before we left.”

“I say this with all due respect, Gavin, my dear,” said Brad, shaking his head. “Your parents sound like lunatics.”

“They’re quirky,” Gavin said. “I can introduce you now that you’re going to make an honest man of me. When do I get to meet _your_ parents?”

“Hopefully never!” Brad announced, his voice full of venom and passion. “My mom left us and moved to Los Angeles when I was ten. She said she could never live the glamorous life she’d always dreamed of if she was married to a _scientist_.”

“Brad, you never told me this!”

“It never mattered, Gavin. Not before now. Now I want you to know everything about me. Every nook and cranny. Every mole and blemish. Every—”

“I get the picture,” Gavin cut in. “So is your mom living a glamorous life?”

Brad shook his head.

If Gavin wasn’t mistaken, his eyes had welled up with tears.

“She works in a nursing home in Fresno,” Brad told him. “But my dad—he was never the same after Mom left. He became obsessed with creating the perfect woman. I mean from scratch. Someone who would never leave him. Imagine it, Gavin: being able to create an artificial person who thinks and dreams and loves...and doesn’t complain when you wear the shirt that says ‘I Got Crabs at Joe’s’ for the third time in a single week!”

“So...like an android?” Gavin asked.

Brad shrugged. “Kinda?” His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “But he never got it quite right. I haven’t talked to my dad in two years. He heard about another scientist who was close to a breakthrough in creating artificial humans, so he sold everything he owned and vowed to track him down. All I have to remember him by is a t-shirt.”

Gavin paused, looking first out the dark window then back at Brad. “The crabs one?”

A single tear slipped down Brad’s porcelain cheek. “The crabs one.” He thumped his fist against the steering wheel. “Dammit! Why can’t I get a signal?”

That was the second time ever that Gavin had heard his boyfriend— _ahem!_ fiancé—swear. “Try Google Maps,” he told Brad.

“It’s no use,” Brad moaned. “We’re lost.” He chucked the phone into the backseat.

Right away, a cheery, robotic voice announced: _Obstacle in the road reported ahead!_

“I don’t see anything,” said Gavin.

“Ignore it,” Brad said. “Those things are always wrong.”

But Robo-Voice was _not_ wrong. The Hyundai hit the obstacle, and whatever it was exploded the passenger side front tire with a loud _bang_.

Gavin shrieked, Brad shrieked, and the car veered off sharply toward the edge of the road.

Even though Gavin could see Brad trying to brake, the car’s tires were slipping in the mud. What finally stopped it was the huge, gnarled root of a tree. The impact split the economy sedan’s bumper. The seatbelts caught, and for a moment Brad and Gavin were yanked back and forth like toy poodles on too-short leashes.

Then it was still and quiet, except for the sound of the rain and the hissing of some damaged engine part.

“Oh…” Brad said.

“Brad,” Gavin said, putting a hand on his arm.

“Well—”

Gavin squeezed his bicep. “Brad, please. There’s no need for—”

“ _Dammit!_ ” Brad shouted. He brought his fist down on the steering wheel again. At that very second, all of the airbags in the car deployed, covering both of the car’s occupants with a film of white dust.

“Oh, dear,” Gavin said, dust puffing off his lips. “Do you think these were the dangerous, factory-recalled Japanese airbags?”

“No,” said Brad. The lenses of his glasses were completely covered with powder. “Those were the ones that exploded. These must be different dangerous, factory-recalled Japanese airbags. But let me tell you, Gavin: I’d rather have a faceful of white stuff than a faceful of shrapnel.”

“Dearest,” Gavin said, “if your dick shot shrapnel, I’d be the happiest disfigured freak on Earth.”

Brad seized Gavin’s filthy hand and kissed it with filthy lips. “I really don’t deserve you, darling.” He gave Gavin’s hand another squeeze, then reached into the backseat to retrieve his phone. “No signal,” he said. “What about yours?”

Gavin dug his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Nothing. Oh, I hope we don’t have to spend the night in the car! There could be criminals out here, waiting to surprise two unsuspecting, innocent, large, muscular guys, one of whom has anger management issues!”

“It won’t come to that,” Brad said. He put on a brave face, or what might have been a brave face.

Gavin couldn’t really tell under all the dust.

“There was a turn-off a little while back,” Brad said. “We’ll walk that way. Maybe there’s a house, and we can use their phone.” He opened his door.

Gavin opened his, as well, then stepped out into the rain. It was steady but not too heavy...kind of like his relationship with Brad so far. _Slim chance of it getting heavier tonight_ , he thought.

Even though he didn’t know it then, Gavin was wrong about that. In fact, he was so wrong about that that he and Right About That were separated and seeing other people.

...but probably still following each other on Instagram.

  


**III: A Light in the Dark**

It had been a long slog through the mud and the dark woods with only distant headlights and that annoying flashlight app to navigate by. But Brad kept his arm around Gavin the whole way.

Gavin shivered. It had been hot during the day but the temperature had dropped.

“Do you want to wear my sweater vest, darling?” Brad asked. “It’s one hundred percent wool. Warm, but may be a little damp.”

Yes,” Gavin said, “I can tell. It smells like a Scottish bachelor party.”

The trees started to thin out a little. Further down the road, Gavin thought he could see lights. He didn’t say anything at first, thinking it could just be his tired brain playing tricks. A mirage—like water in the desert or Matt Bomer half-naked at a romance book club meeting.

But no! Brad could see it, too! He pointed ahead with a shaking hand and said, “Do you see that?”

“Yes!” Gavin said excitedly. “A light. Lots of them, actually!”

Sure enough, when they had walked a little farther, the glow became brighter and the outline of a huge stone mansion emerged from the dark. Whoever owned it appeared to be throwing a party, because it seemed like every light in the house was on. As Gavin and Brad approached, they saw a number of motorcycles parked by one side, underneath a sign that read:

 

NO PARKING

VIOLATORS WILL BE VIOLATED

 

Brad shot Gavin a look.

“What if they’re Satanists?” Gavin asked, clutching Brad’s arm a little tighter.

After clearing his throat and adjusting his wet tie, Brad said, “Well, as far as I know, Satanists these days are just atheists who want to wear cloaks. And I can respect that.”

“Well,” Gavin said, “whoever they are, it sure looks like a lot of people want to get violated tonight.”

Brad frowned, looking ridiculous with his rain-speckled glasses and wet hair. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Gavin sighed as they walked up to the huge double doors under a gothic portico. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said.

The door knocker was a huge brass thing. It probably clocked in at half Gavin’s weight and probably cost twice what he made in a year. He shot Brad another glance. The brass was cast in the shape of a face: a guy who seemed to be wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously at visitors. It certainly didn’t help that his long, curling tongue was the actual knocker.

Brad lifted the thing gingerly. From the face he made, one would think it was basted with antibiotic-resistant gonorrhea on the regular.

For his part, Gavin wouldn’t put it past whoever owned this wacky house.

When Brad dropped the knocker, it thumped down and echoed beyond the door like a Hollywood haunted house sound effect.

Both he and Gavin jumped back when the huge wooden slab began to creak open.

Standing in the doorway, his face lit by the porch light, was possibly the hottest human being Gavin had ever seen. And Brad was pretty damn hot.

He had odd-colored eyes: one blue and one green. Like David Bowie, with that same David Bowie “I’m-subconsciously-compelled-to-blow-you” magnetism. This guy had short-cropped hair, a button nose, lips to duel to the death over, and the golden-brown skin of his face was scattered with freckles. All in all, a picture stunning enough to make anyone want to kick dirt on the Mona Lisa.

Gavin clasped his hands tight over his crotch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brad do the same.

“You’re wet,” said Sexy Man.

Gavin blushed. “It’s a side effect of the medication!”

“If I wasn’t before, I am now,” Brad piped up.

Gavin shot him an indignant look.

Sexy Man squinted and tilted his chin. “I mean it’s raining, you creeps.” He sighed, sounding fed up even though he’d only just opened the door. (Gavin and Brad would find out later, of course, that he had been putting up with shenanigans for much longer than they had been present.) “I guess you’d better come inside.”

He opened the door and ushered Brad and Gavin into the huge foyer. It was paneled with dark wood. There was a full suit of armor standing in one corner, holding a tall spear. Across from it on the other side was a grandfather clock, ticking ominously. Portraits lined the hallway: severe looking people, all, though on second look Gavin saw all the women with wigs and pompadours were dressed in suits and all the men wore corsets below their beards and muttonchop whiskers. _Weird_.

“Are those fake cobwebs?” Brad asked their mysterious host.

“It’s Halloween,” sighed aforementioned mysterious host.

Brad frowned. “Not so much…”

“Every day is Halloween here,” Sexy Man told them. “Only less ‘Nightmare Before Christmas and much more—”

“Dildo!” Gavin shouted.

“Well,” said Sexy Man. “Yeah.”

“What the hell, honey?” Brad asked him.

Gavin pointed over to the fake-cobwebbed suit of armor. “There’s a pink dildo on the top of that spear!”

Brad took of his rain-spattered glasses, scrubbed them on his smelly wool vest, tried them again, sighed, stuck them in his pocket, then squinted at the armor. “Why, yes, I believe you’re right, darling.”

Just then, the heavy door slammed shut behind them.

“Guess we’ll get this over with, then,” Sexy Man said. “I’m Markus. The, uh, butler.”

A tall, slender blond man with a long face and sparkling blue eyes swirled out of the shadows, dressed in a French maid costume.

“This is Simon,” said Markus. “The maid.”

“ _Bonsoir_ ,” Simon said, fluttering his eyelashes.

“ _Ah,_ ” Brad said, pleased, “ _parlez-vous français_?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Simon asked, putting his hands on his petticoated hips.

“Welcome to the party,” Markus said, rolling his eyes.

He turned sharply on his heel. Gavin took Brad’s hand and they both followed Markus down the dark corridor to a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

Gavin clutched Brad’s arm. “Do you really think it’s a party?”

“Pretty sure we established that outside,” Brad told him.

It was, as a matter of fact, a party. Markus threw open the doors to reveal a huge space beyond, lit with pink neon. A disco ball twirled slowly on the high ceiling. Bits of scattered light swirled around the space over a group of dancers in the center of the room. All were wearing satin bell-bottom suits in garish colors. There were handlebar mustaches and winged hair and white boots galore.

Gavin looked up at Brad again, who was frowning with obvious distaste.

“Dear lord,” said Brad. “It’s like a _time warp_ in here.”

  


**IV: A Visit From the Master**

Just when they’d come in, the music had cut off—with a bona fide record-scratch sound and everything. The house lights had gone up, making the neon fade, and the disco ball had stopped turning. All of the partygoers had sighed with disappointment.

Markus had waded through the crowd of revelers, shoving them roughly toward a door at the other end of the room. “All right, all right,” he’d said, surly. “Take it somewhere else. Go on, piss off. You, too, sweetheart. We’ve got some special guests.”

Now, Gavin and Brad stood—silent and trembling and expectant—as Simon and Markus circled them like ridiculously dressed vultures. A third ridiculously attired person tap-danced (literally) out from behind an old cage-style elevator. She wore a sequined romper, frilly socks, and so much winged eyeliner it seemed like her head could fly right off her body at any moment and perch on the disco ball.

“Cut it out, North,” Markus grumbled. “There isn’t even any music.”

The woman stopped and pouted, crossing her arms. “You never let me dance for company.”

“Darling,” Markus said, “you’ve got the natural rhythm of a gorilla having a stroke. Anyway, we were told not to distract people from the main event tonight.”

“What’s the main event?” Brad asked.

“Don’t you worry your little head about it,” Simon said from behind him. “Let’s just get you out of these wet coats.”

“We’re not wearing coats,” Gavin said.

Simon was wrestling Brad’s appalling wool vest over his head. He tossed it aside. “ _T_ _hat_ goes in the burn pile.”

“Shh, love,” Markus said as he yanked Gavin’s t-shirt up and over his head. “A lot of things aren’t going to make sense tonight. But you don’t seem very bright, so it shouldn’t bother you much.”

“Hey, now!” Brad shouted. “I’ll thank you not to talk that way to my fiancé!” The stern attitude was severely compromised by the fact that Simon had just pulled down Brad’s polyester trousers, revealing a pair of damp tighty-whities.

“Really, Brad?” Gavin asked.

Markus had relieved Gavin of his own pants, showcasing a leopard-print thong.

Brad huffed. “It’s not the wrapping, it’s the package.”

“Oh, it’s the package all right,” Simon said. He gave Brad’s cotton-clad crotch a good squeeze.

Somewhere in the house, an air horn sounded.

“You keep your filthy hands off my Brad!” Gavin protested.

“Not likely, sweet cheeks.” Markus hauled back and smacked Gavin’s ass—hard—making him jump and squeak like a frightened hamster.

“Nope,” North said, almost purring, “you folks just happened to stumble in on the most auspicious night of the year. The Master’s unveiling his ultimate creation in”—she pulled a brass pocket watch out of her significant cleavage—“about fifteen minutes.”

At that, all three of them—Markus, Simon, and North—let loose with a chorus of extremely fake-sounding evil laughter.

Gavin shot Brad a very concerned look. (Despite the goofy briefs, he _did_ have godlike abs...not to mention the fact that said briefs were stretched to their absolute limit by the barber’s pole he was apparently smuggling in them.)

Brad gave him a look right back.

Gavin was pleased to see he was drooling a little out of the corner of his perfect mouth, which meant the Bad Kitty thong was having its desired effect.

_Perhaps tonight won’t be such a waste after all…_

That thought was interrupted by clanging, clattering, thumping, and swearing from the old-fashioned elevator. Everyone turned to look.

What looked like a huge gold lamé bat was struggling on the floor. After a second or two, a head of messy gray hair emerged. “Goddamn cloak!” the person swore.

“See?” Gavin whispered. “Satanists.”

The person—a man—struggled to his feet. _Huge_ feet, which were clad in equally huge high heels. Above those were fantastically hairy legs encased in fishnet stockings. Garters bracketed leather briefs that were far too skimpy to contain the second impressive unit in a row Gavin had seen that night. A corset was brutally laced (and altogether failing to contain) the guy’s soft belly—also hairy—and a luxurious mat of gray fur erupted from the top of the garment. At least his salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed around a mouth smeared with violently red lipstick.

“Perhaps you should have worn the go-go boots tonight, uh, _Master_ ,” Markus said.

“Nah,” the older guy said. “It’s this fucking cape. And I was all prepared to make a grand entrance....”

“You could try again?” Simon suggested meekly.

“Silence, servant!” declared the bearded guy. Then, in a much more deflated tone: “The effect is ruined anyway.” He stomped over toward a cowering Gavin and Brad in those monster heels.

 _Honestly,_ Gavin thought through his confusion and fear, _the things were so fucking big they could be row-boats for Hobbits._

“What have we here?” he boomed.

Even though he was shaking, Brad straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m Brad Richards. And this is my fiancé, Gavin Reed.”

Inspired by Brad’s bravery, Gavin spoke up. “Soon to be Gavin Reed-Richards.”

“Uh, isn’t that the guy from Fantastic Four?” Simon asked.

“Shut the fuck up, all of you,” the guy in the beard and corset said. He cleared his throat loudly and shot a pointed look at Markus.

“Oh, yeah,” Markus said. He stepped back and made a half-hearted sweeping gesture at the bearded guy. “May I present to you your host, Doctor Hank-n-Furter.”

Gavin snorted.

North thumped him upside the head.

“Doctor, huh?” said Brad, giving him the side-eye.

Hank-n-Furter’s shoulders fell a little. “All right. It’s a PhD. In studying humans.”

Markus elbowed him in the side.

“Uh, I mean... _anthropology_.” Hank-n-Furter straightened up. He was damn tall and solid as a fridge. The corset laces groaned. “Anyway—Gad, Bravin: you’ve come to my abode on an auspicious night. I’ve made the discovery of a lifetime. I have unlocked the secret to _life itself_!”

“Hot cocoa and the home shopping channel?” asked Brad.

“Porn?” asked Gavin.

“Bourbon and diamonds?” asked North.

“Botox?” asked Simon.

“Apathy?” asked Markus.

Hank-n-Furter shook his head, his hair flying. “No, no. Shut up, the lot of you. You’re all coming up to my lab. I guarantee you’ve never seen anything like this.” When he winked, his false eyelashes detached and tumbled down his face to lodge in his beard. “Fuck,” Hank-n-Furter said again, then stomped back to the elevator.

  


**V: A Creation**

Apparently the lift was for the master of the house only, as Brad and Gavin were prodded by the three servants up an endless spiral staircase to the second level of _chez Hank-n-Furter_. The room was a design nightmare that would give HGTV hosts palpitations: the walls were white and lit with colored lights in tiny niches. A sweeping ramp stretched from the sunken floor level to another door at least thirty feet up, winding almost all the way around the circular chamber. Hideous reproduction marble statues lined the walls of the ramp. It looked like John Waters had designed the Guggenheim.

It was the upper door through which Brad and Gavin emerged, with North, Simon, and Markus on their heels. All the weirdos from the disco party had gathered along the ramp, and now held glasses of champagne and noisemakers like it was New Year’s Eve of 1976.

Gavin poked Brad hard in the side. “Brad, look!”

“I know, darling,” Brad said. “The décor is beyond monstrous.”

“No, dumbass,” Gavin hissed.

This time, Brad followed where he was pointing, down into the neon-lit middle of the room. A huge glass-and-steel tank dominated the space. It was filled with some sort of liquid—viscous and semi-transparent. Still, the form that seemed to be suspended inside looked... _human_.

“Dear _God_ ,” Brad whispered.

“Oh, _he_ certainly thinks so,” Markus said, rolling his gorgeous eyes. “But the sad truth is he’s a two-pump chump if he doesn’t jerk it beforehand.”

“Huh?” Gavin said, confused.

Simon shushed Markus. “Not now, dear. Wait until the time is right.”

As Brad and Gavin watched, Simon and Markus leaned in and indulged in a noisy, sloppy tongue kiss.

“I don’t get what Simon sees in him,” North said. “I mean, he’s so deformed and hideous.”

Gavin’s jaw dropped. “ _That_ guy? You think _he’s_ hideous?”

“It’s true,” Simon said while Markus kept licking his neck. “I realize Markus is grotesque and appalling. But I can’t help myself.”

“Have you actually _looked_ at him?” Brad asked.

The bizarre exchange was interrupted by Hank-n-Furter’s voice from below. He had emerged wearing a green surgical gown and mask, rubber gloves, and a strand of huge, obviously fake pearls. “Tonight, people of Transylvania, you will witness history! Let me emphasize ‘witness.’ Because if any one of you even so much as touches... _history_...or even thinks about it, I’ll cut your damn hands off like a sadistic kid with an action figure!”

All of the Studio 54 nutjobs politely applauded.

“What’s ‘history?’” Gavin asked.

“Shut up and witness,” Markus hissed.

With that, Hank-n-Furter pressed a button on the wall, and an array of some kind dropped from the ceiling, taking for-fucking-ever to descend. Even Hank-n-Furter himself was tapping his high-heeled foot by the time the apparatus reached the surface of the water. “Should have thought that one out better…” he was heard to murmur.

In the silence that followed, a huge peal of thunder sounded over the house and the tacky lighting flickered.

All at once, Hank-n-Furter began madly flipping levers on the thing hanging over the tank. It spat smoke and strange liquids and crackled with veins of blue lightning. Then it plunged into the strange liquid.

Everything went silent for a moment.

Brad, Gavin, Simon, Markus, North, and all the partygoers peered over the banister, anticipating.

Another mumbled swear from Hank-n-Furter. He walked up and slapped the mechanical arm of the apparatus.

Everyone gathered around gasped and flinched back as it came to life again. The thing began to rise once more, and now had grasped in metal pincers a limp human form. It was pale as a tuberculosis patient, but nonetheless had bitchin’ muscle tone in its legs and arms. A head of dark hair was barely visible.

Gavin and Brad watched with mouths hanging open as the cloudy liquid evaporated from the unmoving person’s (man’s?) skin, disappearing like steam from a deep fryer. Come to think of it, it kind of smelled like french fries, too. Gavin’s stomach rumbled, earning him an appalled look from Brad.

He shrugged.

“Yes!” Hank-n-Furter was shouting. “Yes, my creature!”

“He’s enthusiastic,” Brad commented.

Markus looked bored. “He sounds like that when he comes.”

With a mechanical sound, the claw-thing moved along a track in the ceiling, very much like one of those impossible goddamn arcade games that steals fifty bucks in quarters only to deny the frustrated player a plush Pikachu made in China. Another loud click, and the claw opened up suddenly, dropping the limp “creature” directly in to Hank-n-Furter’s hairy, waiting arms.

Everyone craned their necks as Hank-n-Furter set his creation gently on the pale pink carpet, so enraptured that not one of them even silently asked the very pertinent question: _Who puts carpet in a laboratory?_

“The kiss of life,” Hank-n-Furter crooned. But instead of bending down Sleeping Beauty-style, he hauled back and slapped the creation hard across the face. “Wake up, darling,” he chirped. “Daddy’s hungry.”

All present gasped when the creation opened his eyes wide and pulled in a sharp breath.

“It’s alive!” Hank-n-Furter yelled. With one meaty hand, he helped the creature struggle to his feet, then held his pale arm aloft like the ref at a boxing match.

Thunderous applause broke out across the gallery.

Gavin and Brad were too stunned to join in.

Markus yawned and tapped his fingers against his palm in a half-assed golf clap.

Squinting down, Brad asked, “Am I going _loco_ , or does that creation look _exactly_ like...me?”

Simon hung on Brad’s shoulder. “Oh, do you speak Spanish?”

Brad shrugged him off. “No, asshole.” To Gavin, he said, “Look. It’s uncanny!”

“Oh, _Brad_ ,” Gavin chided. “That guy looks nothing like you. For one, he’s got _brown_ eyes. And you’re taller!” He studied the lithe form still clutched in Hank-n-Furter’s grip. “I have to say, though, I _do_ like his skivvies.”

The creature was wearing a very skimpy pair of gold briefs. All he would need to look like a professional wrestler from the 1980s would be a mullet and several courses of steroids. Luckily, his hair was cut short and looked carefully styled for having just come out of a tank of primordial goo.

“Ladies, gentlemen, insectoids, blob creatures, and the generally gender-undeclared,” Hank-n-Furter began, “may I present to you my greatest achievement:  _Connor_!”

More applause filled the space, ringing. The guests twirled their noisemakers and slugged champagne.

“Well,” Markus said, “that’s a dumb-ass name.”

Brad sniffed. “Right?”

“Tonight is your birthday, sweetcakes,” Hank-n-Furter said from below, stroking Connor’s cheek, “and you’re going to make Daddy _so_ happy.”

Connor grunted and tried a smile.

Brad squinted at Gavin. “Does he mean ‘Daddy’ like ‘Daddy?’ Or ‘Daddy’ like ‘ _Daddy_?’”

“Yeah,” North said, tapping her chin. “Because if he created him, doesn’t that kind of make him Connor’s _father_?”

“Well,” Simon sniffed, “he hardly _gave birth_ to him.”

“I think it’s kind of creepy,” Gavin admitted.

“Jesus fuck,” Markus said, “this is the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard.” He shoved Gavin and Brad down the ramp toward the center of the room, shouldering merry-makers out of the way left and right.

“Ah, good,” said Hank-n-Furter when they reached the lab floor. “What do you think of my masterpiece?”

Gavin stepped a little closer, his junk jangling in its leopard sling. “He’s awfully tall.”

Hank-n-Furter frowned. “I like ‘em that way, short stuff.” Playfully, he patted Connor’s behind.

“Is nobody else seeing this?” Brad asked, gesturing to Connor and then back at his own face. “I mean, am I nuts?”

Putting a hand on Brad’s bicep, Gavin said, “Don’t be weird, dear.” He stepped even closer to Connor, who shrank back a little. “Too many muscles.”

“Your boner says otherwise,” Hank-n-Furter said, looking down his nose.

Gavin blushed beet red. “I get hard when I’m scared.”

“And when you’re mad,” Brad said. “And tired. And drunk. And when you cry.”

“Brad!”

“Why doesn’t anyone ask him what _he_ thinks?” North said. “How about you, Connor, honey? Are you okay?”

“He doesn’t talk,” Hank-n-Furter said with total assurance. “It’s easier that way.”

“An excellent point, my sparkly friend,” Connor said to North. “But is anyone ever _really_ okay? I realize the circumstances of my birth, such as it is, are unique. But I believe that we all experience at one point or another what Heidegger called _Geworfenheit_ ; that is: the sensation of being hurled unprepared into life—”

“Shut up, Connor,” Hank-n-Furter said.

Looking chastened, Connor grunted.

  


**VI: An Interruption**

Suddenly, the tension in the laboratory was split by the muffled revving of a loud engine, followed in short order by a huge crash.

The far wall of the laboratory fairly exploded, chunks of brick and plaster tumbling outward like the Kool-Aid Man had come for his final vengeance. The motor sounded closer and louder now, and the smell of freon and the sound of terrible, commercial rock music filled the air.

Connor cowered behind Hank-n-Furter.

Gavin shrieked and leapt into Brad’s arms.

Simon clung to Markus, his petticoats flying up to reveal a bare, white butt.

The bell-bottomed revelers scattered.

Only North seemed unperturbed. In fact, she screamed with joy and clapped her hands as a guy on a 1978 Harley Davidson Shovelhead bike with a flame paint job came bouncing through the rubble. “Ralph!” she called.

Even though the blond guy on the chopper looked rougher than an extra from _The Walking Dead_ , North ran over and flung her arms around him, covering his Frankenstein face (how’s that for meta?) with kisses.

“Hey, baby,” Ralph said. He smirked like Elvis Presley, which pulled a stitch loose from the long, ugly scar across his forehead. Something green dribbled out.

“Oh, God, I’m going to be sick,” Brad said.

Gavin jumped down, lest his dear fiancé barf on his favorite underwear.

“You!” shouted Hank-n-Furter.

“Disco is dead, fuckers!” Ralph yelled. He pushed a button on the bike’s chassis.

Everyone covered their ears as horribly familiar chords began to fill the room.

Ralph revved the engine, pumping out exhaust and sending chunks of wall flying behind the spinning wheel.

With murder in his heavily made-up eyes, Hank-n-Furter took the opportunity to dart away into the shadows underneath the ramp.

Abandoned, Connor looked around like a trapped animal, then ran toward the ramp.

With a shout, Ralph gunned the bike up the ramp after him. It was all North could do to hold on as they went flying upward.

Everyone left watched in horror as Ralph, grinning like a demon, cornered a shaking Connor near the door at the top of the ramp.

With no other choice, Connor scrambled up on the banister, then leapt out into the void. He managed to catch the still-dangling apparatus. Whimpering, he clung to it, swinging high above the lab floor.

“Damn,” Brad said in awe, “that was a video game move.”

Ralph revved the engine again.

Gavin was sure the music was going to make his ears bleed pretty soon.

“What would you do for love, baby?” Ralph called back to North. He jumped the bike’s front wheel up onto the banister.

She grimaced and hopped off. “Not that,” she said.

Undeterred, Ralph punched the accelerator and flew right over the ledge. It looked for a second like he was going to crash right into Connor in mid-air. Then, suddenly, he and the bike dropped just like Wile E. Coyote heading off the edge of a cliff.

Amid the rubble, the Harley smashed to pieces on impact. Thankfully, the music cut off. Ralph landed a split second after his ride, fucked-up face down.

Just then, Hank-n-Furter came roaring out of the shadows, an enormous axe raised over his head. He charged, heels and all, into the mess and buried the hatchet with a wet _thunk_ right in Ralph’s skull.

From above, North screamed.

Breathing hard, his surgical gown splattered with blood and green slime, Hank-n-Furter slogged out of the wreckage and dropped the axe with a heavy sound. He used one hairy-knuckled hand to smooth his hair away from his face. “What?” he asked the horrified onlookers. “Did you want to keep listening to _Nickelback_?!”

With that, Gavin, Brad, and the others assembled shared looks among themselves for a moment. They shrugged and nodded.

It was a hard point to argue.

  


**VII: An Unexpected Visitor**

After the carnage in the lab, Hank-n-Furter had coaxed Connor down from the ceiling with a promise of delights waiting in their bridal suite. Meanwhile, Gavin and Brad were hustled out of the room. North and Simon dragged a struggling and protesting Brad down one hallway, while Markus hauled Gavin by his thong down another.

Nursing the worst wedgie he’d suffered since fourth grade, Gavin was shoved into a dim bedroom done up in a dusty pink color. He banged on the locked door for a few moments to no avail. Afterward, he collapsed next to the door and cried, lamenting the requisite hard-on.

Finally, he found himself so exhausted that he dragged himself to the plush, frilly bed and flopped down, drained. He was almost instantly asleep.

Gavin couldn’t be sure what time it was when he was awoken, but what dragged him back to reluctant consciousness was a pair of big, soft hands and Brad’s silky voice.

“There, there, love,” Brad purred. “It’s been a terrifying night, but I’m here now.” Those delightful hands drifted lower, lower, lower, gently snapping the elastic of Gavin’s thong.

Gavin gasped. “Right now? _Here_?”

“Yes, darling. I can’t wait anymore.” Brad pinned his arms at his sides and began to kiss down Gavin’s hairy chest to his moderately-less-hairy belly.

Gavin wasn’t so hirsute, though, that he didn’t feel that something was... _off_.

“Brad,” he ventured, “uh, did you grow a beard in the past couple hours?”

“Yeah, do you like it?

The voice sounded off, too. “Well,” Gavin said, “I guess I could get used to— _wait_ ! Brad looks like a fourteen-year-old when he tries to grow facial hair. You’re not him!” Gavin began to struggle in earnest, but he was held fast by huge, hairy hands. “You’re _Hank-n-Furter_!”

“That’s right, Gavin. But you have to admit: you _liked_ what I was doing.”

“Well,” Gavin said, drawing the syllable out. “But...what happened to Connor?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, Hank-n-Furter’s voice sounded mildly annoyed. “I think he’s out playing with the dogs. He _likes_ dogs.”

“I’m a cat person, myself,” said Gavin.

“Pussy,” Hank-n-Furter growled.

“That’s what I said,” Gavin told him. “Maybe you should check on Connor.”

With that, Hank-n-Furter heaved a weary sigh. “He wanted to talk about Cartesian dualism. I think I might have fucked up the recipe. My mother always used to tell me I couldn’t cock.”

“You mean ‘cook?’” Gavin asked.

“Oh, no, my dear boy.” Hank-n-Furter’s voice was like eighty percent cacao dark chocolate. And not the cheap kind. “I certainly didn’t.”

“Oh, my,” Gavin said. He was still a little frightened, so still hard. And getting turned on, so even harder.

“And?” Hank-n-Furter asked, tracing one finger down Gavin’s nose.

Gavin shrugged against the bedcovers. “I always wanted to get with a true bear before I settled down,” he confessed. “All right. Fuck it.”

“Oh,” Hank-n-Furter growled, “I intend to.”

If someone were listening outside the heavy bedroom door, they might have heard: “Yes! Yes, my creation!” followed by an equally enthusiastic “ _Booyah!_ ”

  


**VIII: A Little Lost Lamb**

Some indeterminate time later, Gavin was wandering the halls of the huge mansion, disoriented from vigorous shagging and walking like a gunslinger right out of a spaghetti western.

If what Markus the very-much-not-deformed butler had said was true, then Hank-n-Furter must have taken care of business prior to coming into Gavin’s room, because the man had (dare he say) _inhuman_ stamina. And, by happy coincidence, was hung like the proverbial baby’s arm...if that baby was ten years older and had started powerlifting in preschool.

Actually, all of that was a horrifying mental thread. Short story long: Hank-n-Furter had a big dick.

Gavin was still feeling it like a phantom limb as he walked aimlessly. Somehow, he ended up back in the laboratory, picking his way barefoot through the wreckage. He had to sidestep a red-and-green splotch amid the broken brick, but—curiously—Ralph’s body was gone.

Light flickered from a corner, catching Gavin’s eye. His heartbeat sped up and he could feel it in his throat...which was feeling oddly neglected considering the night’s activities thus far. Still, he mustered the brainpower to go and investigate. The flickering turned out to be coming from a video monitor, mounted underneath the winding ramp. Next to it was the wall-mounted case that once held the axe that Hank-n-Furter had used to dispatch North’s ill-fated boyfriend.

It was probably for the best. He hadn’t looked too good.

Peering into the darkness, Gavin read the engraved sign above the shattered window of the case:

 

BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF UNRULY BRAIN DONOR.

 

_Brain donor?_

Even through the hazy afterglow of really unexpectedly good sex, a nauseating realization dawned on Gavin.

_Good gravy! Hank-n-Furter had taken part of Ralph’s brain and put it into Connor!_

Ralph had probably been a decent, well-balanced guy before—someone North might even take home to meet her parents. Gavin knew that every good man had a hidden douchebag lurking inside, popping out at inopportune moments but for the most part staying well controlled. But that brute Hank-n-Furter had stolen everything reasonable in his head and left him with nothing but douche. In retrospect, it really had been a mercy killing. A life spent thinking it was in any way cooler to have a Harley instead of a DeLorean _,_ or believing Canadians made good music*, was no life at all.

But at least the non-douche part of Ralph’s brain had found a good home. Connor seemed nice, and he _was_ cute, even if he looked absolutely nothing like Brad.

“Brad!” a man’s voice called.

That snapped Gavin out of his reverie. The voice was very familiar, and it was coming from the video monitor. Gavin looked over at the screen again, just in time to witness Hank-n-Furter giving it hard to none other than his beloved fiancé!

What’s more: he was moaning and begging like he’d never done with Gavin!

_Oh, Hank! Yes, right there! Oooh, Daddy! Harder!_

The sound of Gavin’s heart shattering was even louder than Brad’s treacherous groans and gasps. _Calling him “Hank!” The nerve!_

(The fact that Gavin himself only a short while earlier had been bouncing like a pogo stick world champion on Hank-n-Furter’s impressive endowment he conveniently ignored.)

He was so distraught and distracted that at first he dismissed the soft moans he heard as part of the lewd soundtrack coming from the video feed. But then the something moaned again, and Gavin turned. Whoever—or _whatever_ —it was, it lay huddled inside the empty glass tank.

Hesitant (and also kind of hoping it was Markus because that would make for an _exquisite_ revenge fuck), Gavin tiptoed to the edge of the tank and peered over.

Lying curled up, half-covered with Hank-n-Furter’s discarded lamé cape, was Connor. His shoulders were shaking and he was whimpering softly.

“Oh, dear,” Gavin said softly.

Connor looked up, his eyes wide. There was a cut on one of his supermodel-grade cheekbones, and a little blood had dried at the corner of his lush mouth.

Gavin felt a tug on his heartstrings at the sight of the poor, pitiful thing. He also felt a tug at his groin at the idea of getting back at both Brad _and_ Hank-n-Furter in one go. Struggling a little on his cute, short, hairy little legs, Gavin scrambled up the side of the tank and plopped less-than-gracefully inside. To his surprise, Connor offered him a hand.

As he did, the cloak fell away from a body that would make Ryan Reynolds puke from sheer envy.

How had Gavin not noticed the six-pack, the plump pecs, the wispy trail of hair leading deliciously down into those ludicrous briefs? And _oh, the briefs_ —they were doing a very bad job of concealing the Kubrick-esque monolith currently rising between Connor’s pale, hairless legs.

 _Well_ , thought Gavin, _call me an ape, ‘cause I’m about to get my Space Odyssey on. Gonna be waving my bone around and screaming incoherently. Open the pod bay doors, HAL. My God—it’s full of stars._

Instead of beating that obscure metaphor to death in his head, Gavin kissed the knuckles of the hand Connor had offered. Then the wrist, the forearm, the bicep, the neck, the jaw bone. When he got up to those luscious lips, he asked, “Do you want this?”

“Aristotle differentiates between ‘natural’ and ‘rational’ desires, asserting that the former are physiological and the latter societal,” Connor said. “While the desire for intimacy by this system is classified as natural, it can be overridden by rational desire to be, for example, perceived as morally upstanding or pure—”

“Shut the fuck up, Connor,” Gavin whispered. “What I mean is: do you want to get dicked down?”

Connor grunted. “Uh-huh.”

 

*Okay, Canadians make _some_ good music.

  


**IX: A Shocking Revelation**

Gavin was drifting in a post-coital fog, drooling gently on Connor’s chest as they both lay inside the tank. “Fuck, I could go for a cigarette,” he mumbled, halfheartedly wiping his mouth.

Connor grunted.

It sounded like agreement, so Gavin grinned and smashed his nose into Connor’s armpit.

Suddenly, the lower-level doors burst open.

Someone screamed, followed by the distinct sound of a shoe contacting an ass. Quite a divine ass, too, because Gavin peeked over the top of the tank just enough to see Markus sprawled out on the carpet, cowering as Hank-n-Furter loomed over him.

“How could you let him escape?” boomed Hank-n-Furter. “I wasn’t even _close_ to bored with him yet!”

“I thought he was with you!” Markus shouted back from the floor. “I was having my nightly quickie with Simon in the broom closet!”

“ _Nightly_?” asked Hank-n-Furter, furious.

Gavin and Connor cringed when he kicked Markus in the ribs.

“Mercy, Master!” Markus cried out.

“You degenerate, malformed freak of nature! No diddling the help on my dime!”

Markus rolled away and crouched by the ruined wall. “I _am_ the help!” he yelled. “And you don’t pay us, you... _Sasquatch_!”

With that, Gavin gripped Connor’s sculpted bicep, prepared for more violence.

But suddenly, a shrill alarm sounded. It was almost as loud as Ralph’s infernal Nickelback. When the tone ended, a robotic voice announced:

 

_INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!_

 

“What now?” growled Hank-n-Furter. He walked over to the video screen and poked a button.

The view changed, but from where he hid, crouched, Gavin couldn’t make out what the monitor showed.

“Shit!” said Hank-n-Furter. “It’s that damned Kamski! He’s been tracking me for years!”

Gavin looked over at Connor, silently questioning.

Connor shrugged.

“He’s in the Eden Room,” Hank-n-Furter told Markus. “You go initiate lockdown procedures. I’m dragging Kamski’s ass in here. He’s asked for it. Now I’m going to show _him_ what arrogance and hubris and excess and questionable taste _really_ look like!”

Markus, seeing his chance, scurried out of the room.

Gavin expected Hank-n-Furter to leave, as well, but instead he strode over to the wall.

He placed his hand against a spot that looked as blank and white as the rest of them. But, to Gavin’s shock, it lit up under his touch and a secret panel slid away to reveal a huge switch. Like, needlessly, Looney-Tunes huge.

With a dramatic flourish, Hank-n-Furter threw the switch.

Gavin’s and Connor’s hair stood on end. The room began to hum and pulse like a guy giving a blow job desperately signaling the need to come up for air. It grew and grew, becoming nearly unbearable until the door at the top of the ramp flew open and a guy in a wheelchair came zipping through. He barreled at the chair’s top speed down the ramp, with time to get out one heartfelt _Cowabunga!_ before reaching the bottom.

Weird thing to say, Gavin thought. But then again, the guy did kind of look like a surfer, down to the goofy haircut he had apparently refused to leave back in 1996.

The chair hurtled onward, but Hank-n-Furter shut off the switch at the last moment, bringing Kamski skidding to a stop at his feet.

Uh, _heels_.

Hank-n-Furter set one of those enormous heels on the armrest of the chair. “Doctor Elijah Kamski,” he said, his voice thick with disdain.

“Hank-n-Furter,” Kamski said with similar disdain. “I’ve finally discovered your lair.”

“Yes,” Hank-n-Furter said, gloating. “And now you’re at my mercy.”

“Yes,” said Kamski. “It seems that monstrous butler of yours has locked us all in.”

Gavin felt he _had_ to be missing something when it came to Markus.

If a chuckle could sound evil, then Hank-n-Furter pulled it off. “Well, at least the slippery bastard managed to follow an order this time.”

If an evil chuckle could be one-upped, Kamski did just that. “Markus is more deviant than you know.”

“Don’t you mean ‘devious?’” asked Hank-n-Furter.

“Whatever,” said Kamski. “The point is, he led me to you.”

“He sold me out?!” Hank-n-Furter roared. “That _asshole_.”

“Not really,” Kamski responded, his voice cold as steel. “I saw him at Target.”

“No,” hissed Hank-n-Furter.

“Yes,” said Kamski. “I followed him back here!”

“No!”

“Yes! He bought a _duvet cover_!”

“Floral?” Hank-n-Furter asked.

“Don’t think so,” Kamski said. “Pretty sure it was stripes.”

“I _hate_ stripes,” growled Hank-n-Furter. “Fucking preppy bullshit. So why did you choose tonight to confront me?”

“Hm,” Kamski said, only with a lot more M’s. “I have reason to believe you have one of my family members held captive on this property. I’m here to ensure his safe return.”

“ _Ralph_?” asked Hank-n-Furter, shocked.

“What?” Kamski asked. “No. Who’s ‘Ralph?’”

“Oh, thank God.”

Just then, slapping footsteps could be heard. A moment after, Brad’s desperate voice: “Gavin!”

Against his better judgment, Gavin stood up inside the tank. “Brad!” he yelled.

Connor stood up beside him, his formerly perfect hair mussed.

“Connor!” Hank-n-Furter shouted.

Connor shrugged.

“Brad!” Kamski cried.

Brad turned. “ _Dad_?!”

“‘ _Dad_?’” Gavin asked. He faltered, feeling queasy.

Connor put his arm around Gavin to steady him.

“Gavin!” Brad shouted.

“Connor!” yelled Hank-n-Furter again.

Connor shrugged.

“Do you mean ‘Dad’ or ‘Daddy?’” Gavin asked Brad.

“Eugh. I mean ‘Dad.’” Brad gestured at Kamski.

“Daddy,” Connor said.

“ ** _Shut up, Connor!_** ” everyone yelled.

Regaining his composure, straightening an invisible tie, Brad said, “Gavin, this is my father. The one who _left me_.”

“To pursue this monster!” Kamski said, pointing to Hank-n-Furter. “I knew you’d never be safe while he was still on this earth.”

Brad scratched his chin. “That’s...a little extreme.”

“It isn’t,” Kamski said, his tone pleading. “Hasn’t everything you’ve witnessed tonight made it clear?”

“Well, he’s got a monster—”

Kamski held up a hand. “Ugh. I don’t want to know.” He waved a hand at Gavin. “I suppose that’s the slut you’re marrying.”

“How dare you call my Gavin a slut?”

“I’m kind of a slut,” Gavin said, shrugging.

Hank-n-Furter spoke up. “He _is_. But, then: so are you, Brad.”

Brad clutched his head. With tears leaking from his eyes, he turned on Kamski again. “Well, I’m not the one who built a... _fuck robot_.”

“Chloe was not a fuck robot!” Kamski insisted. “She was my muse.”

“‘Was?’” Brad asked.

Kamski hung his head. “She cheated on me. With a MacBook Pro.”

“That _slut_!” Brad cried.

“All right, all right,” Hank-n-Furter said. “Let’s just all agree that everyone in this room is a slut and move on.”

“To what?” Gavin asked.

As if to answer his question, an eardrum-blasting sound shivered through the room.

Everyone looked up to the top of the ramp to see Simon standing and holding a huge gong and a mallet.

“Dinner, you sluts!” he declared.

“To the dining room,” Hank-n-Furter said. “Chop, chop!” He pointed at Connor. “I’ll deal with you later, young man. Daddy is _most_ displeased.”

  


**X: A Dinner Party**

The dining room looked very much like the house’s entry hall, in that it had the same faux-creepy décor. Worse, the long table definitely had a plastic tablecloth arranged hastily over it. The plates were paper and the utensils were plastic, too. Fake flames flickered on fake candles in cheap candelabras.

It smelled like paint.

Everyone stood huddled by the door for a moment, uncertain.

Hank-n-Furter waltzed to the head of the table and sat down, tucking a paper napkin into the nest of hair at the top of his corset. Then he shot a dark look to the others. “We went over budget. Now, sit the fuck down.”

Gavin began to walk over, followed by North, who had changed out of her sparkly onesie and now wore a button-up shirt with _Ralph_ embroidered on the breast pocket over a pair of underwear with a puffy rabbit tail attached.

“Give me a push, will you, son?” Kamski asked Brad.

“Uh, sure.” Brad wheeled the chair over to the foot of the table. “What happened to your legs?”

“Nothing,” said Kamski. “I just don’t want to fuck up my pedicure.”

Hank-n-Furter sneered. “You were always so vain, Doctor.”

Kamski sniffed. “Shit, bro. I’m a prime slab of meat.” He gestured to Brad. “Do I even look old enough to be this nerd’s father?”

“Dad!” Brad said, hurt.

“No,” said Gavin, “but you look like you’re waiting for Stone Temple Pilots to take the main stage at Lollapalooza.”

“At least my family tree isn’t a straight line,” Kamski shot back.

“Enough!” Hank-n-Furter’s voice boomed over the assembled guests. “Jesus. This is worse than a reality show.”

The conversation died down as Simon walked quietly behind each guest, serving up some sort of fragrant meat.

It smelled great, and Gavin was starving, but the slices turned out to be remarkably hard to cut, especially with the plastic utensils. “Do you have any better knives?” he asked Hank-n-Furter.

“Knives? I don’t trust you with safety scissors.”

Gavin pouted. “How about some gravy?”

“Think you’ve had enough of that tonight,” Brad quipped, trying to stab the meat with his fork. A plastic tine broke off and went cartwheeling across the table, bouncing off Connor’s face.

“Yeah?” Gavin said. He pointed his own fork over at Brad. “Tonight was supposed to be special. We were supposed to consummate our love in a fabulous motel. But _no_! You were too busy riding the Hank-n-Furter Express!”

Brad gasped. “You _saw_ that?”

Gavin narrowed his eyes and made a pulling motion in the air with one hand. “Beep, beep, motherfucker.”

“You only fucked Connor because he looks exactly like me!” Brad cried, pained.

“Son, he doesn’t look anything like you,” Kamski said. “For one, he’s got brown eyes. And you’re taller.”

“Stay out of it, Dad!”

“What did I just say?” Hank-n-Furter said from between clenched teeth.

“Eat me, old man,” Gavin spat.

To everyone’s shock, Hank-n-Furter rose to his full augmented height, sending his chair tumbling behind him. “That’s what _he_ said!” He whipped the crappy plastic tablecloth away to reveal Ralph’s lifeless form. One leg was missing. It looked like the world’s cheapest pirate funeral.

North screamed. That might have been louder than the Harley, the Nickelback, the intruder alarm, _or_ the gong.

“Oh, I’m going to be sick,” Brad said, stumbling away and clutching his stomach.

Gavin seized Connor’s arm, shouting at Hank-n-Furter. “You ate his _face_!”

“No!” North was sobbing and clawing her cheeks with her fingernails. “He _always_ looked like that!”

“Ew, really?” Gavin asked.

She hiccuped and wiped snot from under her nose. “Chicks dig scars.”

“Hank-n-Furter,” Kamski declared loudly, “that’s a _murder_!”

“Doctor Kamski,” Hank-n-Furter said, then paused. “What the fuck rhymes with ‘Kamski?’” At that point, he must have seen Gavin clinging to Connor for dear life, because he stared daggers at the both of them.

Calmly, he went over to the sideboard and opened a drawer. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re next.” He turned around holding the evenings only _real_ knife, brandishing it right at Gavin. “You _bitch_!”

That was when everyone broke and ran.

  


**XI: A Dead End**

Gavin felt like he must have tried every window and door, all to no avail. Everything was locked down tight. On top of it all, the leopard thong didn’t offer much support, and because he was scared to death, he also had the boner to end all boners. Possibly literally.

He ran down a corridor, hearing clicking heels hot on his trail. Every door but one was locked. He charged into that door and slammed it behind him, taking a moment to rest his sweaty forehead against the wood, breathing hard.

“Uh, Gavin?” That was Brad’s voice.

Gavin turned around slowly—because of the fear...and because of the hard-on. In the center of the room stood Connor, North, Brad, and Kamski. Well, Kamski _sat_. They all had their hands up. Simon and Markus were on either side of the group, looking as menacing as a male model and a skinny white guy in a maid costume could look.

Hank-n-Furter burst through the door, holding something bright pink. “Enough horseshit,” he said. “My patented Sonic Transducer will cut you bickering asshats down to size.”

“Isn’t that the dildo from the suit of armor downstairs?” Brad asked.

Hank-n-Furter sniffed. “It _looks_ like a dildo, Brad. But this is the greatest weapon in the universe. And where better to hide it than in plain sight?”

“It’s always the dildo!” Kamski lamented.

Teeth bared, Hank-n-Furter spun and pointed the, well, _dildo_ right at the wheelchair-bound figure. There was a sound like pissing on an electric fence and the air seemed to wobble. It smelled like ozone. Then, where Kamski had been sitting, there now was a replica statue of him—perfect down to the cringeworthy haircut. Also, the statue was completely naked.

Everyone gasped.

Brad looked away. “Oh, God. That’s something I never wanted to see.”

“A Prince Albert,” Hank-n-Furter said. “Damn. I have slightly more respect for the guy.” He waved the deadly dong toward the rest of them. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“I hope that plastic thing is the last dick you ever hold!” North shouted.

_Zap-crack-wobble._

Suddenly she was replaced by a naked statue, as well. Her scant marble pubes were shaved into a heart shape.

“My dad was right,” Brad said, his voice dripping poison. “You _are_ a monster. You ruin lives!”

_Zap-crack-wobble._

Gavin couldn’t hold back a sob when Brad’s beautiful, warm, living flesh was turned to cold stone. But wait… He peered a little closer.

Everybody else seemed to be looking at Brad’s crotch, too. Mainly because it was _blank_. And not blank like _shaved_.

Blank like the world’s hugest Ken doll.

“That’s weird,” Hank-n-Furter said, examining the Sonic Transducer-cum-dildo and looking baffled. He glanced back at the Brad-statue. “Shouldn’t he have…?”

“He _usually_ does,” Gavin said.

Hank-n-Furter shrugged. “Either that or he’s got really thick fingers. And I’ve got bad eyesight.”

A world-weary sigh from Markus. “Honestly, do you fuck everything that comes to the door?”

Hank-n-Furter was trying to look at anything but Markus— _or_ Brad. “Not...everything.”

“But the milkman.” Markus said.

“Yeah.”

“Those Christmas carolers last year?”

“Uh...yeah.”

“The Avon lady?” Markus asked, exasperated.

“Yes, all right,” Hank-n-Furter said. “But I didn’t _touch_ the Girl Scouts.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Markus said. “How about the Drama Club boosters?”

“Oh, yeah. Them, too.”

“The singing telegram?”

Gavin gaped. This was getting ridiculous.

“I did, yes,” said Hank-n-Furter.

Markus smacked himself hard in the forehead with the palm of his hand. “The _Mormons_?”

“No,” Hank-n-Furter said. Before Markus could reply, he said: “Wait. Yes.”

“I hate my life,” Markus said. It made a sharp sound when he banged his head against Brad’s lifeless marble shoulder.

“If you remember that life is transient and change is inevitable—” Connor started.

“Nope!” said Hank-n-Furter. He aimed the dildo at Connor’s head.

_Zap-crack-wobble._

Gavin was the only one left un-transduced. He looked at Brad’s naked dad to his left and naked Connor and Brad to his right. He grunted. He shrugged.

Then everything went black.

  


**XII: A Show, Sort of**

Gavin woke up, except it wasn’t like any other waking up he’d ever done. This time, he was standing upright. And _that_ felt weird, off-balance. He looked down. His cute, short, hairy little legs were wrapped in fishnet stockings and ended in sparkly black pumps. He hadn’t done drag since his college days, when he’d performed at a local dive called The Hole.

Drag nights had been Thursdays, and on those evenings, he’d put aside Gavin Reed and taken up sequins and silk as _Liesl Weapon_ , the horny German with handcuffs.

He’d dragged Brad back to the club once on a Thursday, long after his last performance, but the whole lineup of girls had changed.

Gavin sighed, feeling nostalgic.

Then he caught his balance before he toppled over.

Brad, it appeared, didn’t have the same experience walking in heels. He was slipping and stumbling like a drunk Russian figure skater. Except Gavin was pretty sure Russians were constitutionally unable to get intoxicated.

When Gavin let his gaze wander farther, he saw that they were all in a huge auditorium. The stage lights were up, but it was clear the seats were empty. Not even the satin-wearing revelers had come back. And, honestly, Gavin couldn’t blame them.

Behind the stage, an enormous pink dildo rose like the Eiffel tower over the Parisian skyline.

Oddest of all, there was a sapphire-hued swimming pool sunk right in the middle of the stage. Floating calmly on its surface was an inner tube, where Hank-n-Furter was lounging and trailing his enormous hand in the water. North swam around him like a stoned mermaid, heavy eye makeup running down her cheeks.

“What the hell, Hank-n-Furter?” Gavin asked.

Hank-n-Furter raised his head quickly, sending water droplets flying. “Well, this was supposed to be a talent show. Kind of. But it turns out none of you are talented. At least not these four.” He nodded to North. “I think the Transducer scrambled her brain a little.” A gesture to Brad. “And he’s walking around like a newborn fucking moose.” At Connor: “He’s pouting because I wouldn’t let him go off about _the metaphysics of the transduced mind_ or some shit.” Then, finally, to Kamski: “And _that_ guy won’t shut up about his damn toes.”

Kamski was lifting up one stockinged foot, peering at the holes in the fishnet. “Pretty sure it’s smudged,” he mumbled. “This cost a fortune.”

Gavin sashayed over to Kamski and tipped him right into the pool. “ _I'm_ talented,” he said, defiant. “If you like what I do, will you let us all go?”

Hank-n-Furter narrowed his eyes. There was glitter at the tips of his false eyelashes. “I’ll think about it.”

“I want a promise,” Gavin said.

“Fine,” Hank-n-Furter said, flipping his wet hand. “ _If_ I like it.”

Gavin nodded. “Do you have ‘Lady Marmalade?’”

“2001 or 1974?” Hank-n-Furter asked, a mad glint in his eye.

“Patti LaBelle, you philistine,” Gavin scoffed.

“Good boy,” said Hank-n-Furter. “You might just get your wish.” He snapped his fingers and the opening strains of the disco hit surged in, washing over Gavin like pool water.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. It all seemed familiar, but at the same time, could he really summon up Liesl Weapon from the depths and save them?

As if Hank-n-Furter had heard his thoughts, he said, “Don’t dream it, Gavin. _Be it_.”

Hot stage lights hit Gavin’s face and everything came rushing back. As Patti’s vocals surged in, he knew everything was on point: his lip synch, his strut, his makeup.

North stopped swimming in aimless circles to watch. Connor raised his head in wonder. Kamski gave up trying to fix his hair and stared. Even Brad finally sat his clumsy ass down and took in the show.

Once again, Gavin was on top of the world. It didn’t matter if the house was empty; he was giving his best performance ever.

Just as he was drawing out the long note on _marmalaaaaaaaade_ , the music cut off.

“Hey!” Hank-n-Furter shouted. “Who’s running the booth? Simon, you idiot!”

From the corner of the theater, a dark voice said, “House lights.”

At once, the stage went black and the house was illuminated. In the aisle stood Markus—looking like no version of the pants-meltingly hot butler Gavin had ever seen.

He was statuesque in platform heels and thigh highs. Shimmering booty shorts showed off his... _assets_. His silver bustier shone like the moon and his painted face would make any queen die of envy on the spot.

“It’s over, Hank-n-Furter!” he announced. He looked up at the light booth. “Come on down here, baby.” After a second, Simon walked in, similarly dressed. He was so tall and skinny he looked like a giraffe.

Except, you know, a _sexy_ giraffe.

At once, Gavin felt plain again.

Markus grabbed Simon around the waist. “Your whole operation is a bust, Hank-n-Furter. You’ve fucked your way through an entire county and still haven’t learned anything about human nature. We’re going back to Detroit.”

“You’re from _Detroit_?” Gavin asked.

“The _planet_ Detroit, you insect,” Markus said, sneering. “It’s in the galaxy of Transylvania. Light years from here.”

Simon sighed, a smile on his painted lips. “Oh, Detroit! I can’t wait to get back to its endless crystal pleasure houses, its golden roads shining in the light of our twin suns, the Big Tiddy Bitches.”

Gavin snorted into his hand. There were quiet snickers from around the pool.

“What?” Markus asked.

“Nothing,” Gavin said, trying hard not to smile.

Brad giggled behind him.

“What, you foolish earthlings?” Markus demanded in a rage.

Making a high-pitched noise, Brad pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Gavin’s face was turning red. “Really, it’s nothing.”

North piped up. “They’re laughing about the name, dumbass.”

“I’ll show you _dumbass_!” Markus yelled. He let go of Simon’s waist and yanked something from his garter belt. It was shiny and covered in flashing lights, and did _not_ look like  a dildo. For once.

“Markus!” North shrieked.

He fired the weapon, sending a blinding ray hurtling toward North. It caught her right in the forehead, leaving a scorch mark. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slid underwater, bubbles coming up to the surface for a second or two then stopping.

“That was harsh,” said Hank-n-Furter.

“It was a preview,” said Markus, his voice going shrill. “When I said _we_ were going back to Detroit, I meant only Simon and myself. You and your modern Prometheus there are staying here.... _six feet under_!”

“Meta,” Kamski breathed.

Hank-n-Furter slipped off the inner tube, spluttering. “No, wait! I can change! I’ll be _your_ servant on the flight back. You can even do your room up in _stripes_!”

When Markus laughed, this time the evil was real. “Too late, Hank-n- _failure_! Besides, I don’t even like stripes. I just like to Piss. You. Off.” He leveled the ray gun and shot right at Hank-n-Furter’s hair-covered heart.

The red bolt flew, and Hank-n-Furter collapsed without a sound. He began to sink below the pool water, but suddenly Connor came running. He hurled himself into the water, wrapped Hank-n-Furter’s limp arms around his neck, then dragged him from the pool.

Markus shot again but it only seemed to make Connor angry. “Initialize thrusters!” Markus screamed at the ceiling of the auditorium.

“Thrusters?” Gavin asked. “Kind of a bad time!”

“Gavin, you dumb slut,” said Kamski.

“Hey, dick. I was about to save our asses,” Gavin said.

“But you didn’t, is the thing,” Kamski replied. “And what I was _going_ to say is that this house itself is a spaceship, pointed directly at the Transylvania Galaxy!”

As if to prove the point, the whole house began to rumble.

“We have to get out of here!” Gavin said.

Brad was trying to get to his feet.

“Ditch the heels!” Gavin yelled at him.

Brad sighed with relief, took off the shoes, and tossed them into the pool.

The whole auditorium was shaking. Markus was still firing at Connor, who seemed unaffected by the death ray. He was, as a matter of fact, at that point climbing the huge pink dildo with a very dead Hank-n-Furter on his back, shaking his fist at Markus like a silent movie star.

“Someone grab my chair!” Kamski shrieked.

“You’ll walk or we’ll leave your ass here!” Gavin shouted back.

A chunk of the ceiling fell and splashed into the water.

“Okay!” Kamski said, legging it out with his long, white legs half-tangled in sagging fishnet. “Coming!”

Gavin, Brad, and Brad’s weird dad dashed for the exit.

Before he was pulled away, the last thing Gavin saw in the crumbling theater was Connor losing his grip on the dildo and falling, stone dead, into the pool.

  


**XIII: A Coda**

Gavin coughed in the wake of the house-ship’s departure. He and Brad and Kamski, still dressed like French whores, lay near the scorched foundation. Whatever rocket fuel they used on Planet Detroit, it sure wasn’t eco-friendly.

Brad lay face-down in the mud.

Gavin shook his shoulder, panicked. If Brad was dead, he’d be emotional and thus have the single most inconvenient hard-on of his life.

Luckily, he stirred and clutched Gavin’s hand.

“You okay, Doctor Kamski?” asked Gavin.

Kamski coughed. “Well, my boy, slut or not—I think after all this, you’ve earned the right to call me ‘Elijah.’”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brad wheezed. It was a sincere wheeze.

“Bonding is great,” Gavin said. “But when you meet _my_ parents, how about we just play Scrabble?”

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://nookienostradamus.tumblr.com/) if you care to.


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